


Collaboration

by blackmetaldahlia



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Asexual Matt Murdock, Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lesbian Karen Page, M/M, Multi, Teamwork makes the dream work, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5501339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmetaldahlia/pseuds/blackmetaldahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson & Murdock (& Stahl & Page) collaborate on <i>many</i> things, both in the legal world and out. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Matt and Foggy and in Big Gay Love, Karen and Marci are too. Matt's not so big on the whole sex thing, but is fine with Foggy sometimes shacking up with Karen and Marci instead for sexy bedroom stunts. These are their stories.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Collaboration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bravinto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravinto/gifts).



> This is my gift for the Secret Santa! Marci is so much fun to write, and her and Karen are lovely and a blast. If you want more detail before diving in, check the end notes. This was a blast to write, and thank you bravinto for such a lovely prompt.

Marci demands a temporary job, since it was their meddling that got her _entire_ corporate ladder arrested in the first place, and they agree.

She also takes one look between Matt and Foggy, glances at Karen thoughtfully, and then back to Foggy. “In case you’re seriously this oblivious, the tension between you two has somehow gotten even more ridiculous, Matt, Foggy is pining for you in a way that is actually _impressive_. Foggy, Matt somehow manages to look like he’s looking at the sun any time you’re within ten feet of him.  So _get your acts together_. Better late than never. Get to it.”

And that’s that.

***

“Matt,” Foggy says, slowly. There’s a weight there, dangling from his name, hooked through the a and swinging into some sort of void below.

“Yes?” Matt responds, slowly.

“Are you enjoying this?”

Foggy’s head is between Matt’s legs, and until that weighted syllable had joined the party, there had been dicks in mouths. He thought he had been doing everything right – the head tossing and the moaning, and the theoretically involuntary twitches, but as usual Foggy sees right through him.

“Yes,” he lies, anyway, because at this point it’s impulse.

“Really?” Matt opens his mouth again, to nudge him on, to distract him, and Foggy says, “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

If his name had been weighted, the silence that follows Foggy’s soft statement is a black hole. Matt hesitates for an infinity, and then sighs and pushes himself up on his arms, pulling his general crotch area away from Foggy’s face. His dick is already almost completely soft.

“I’m not,” he finally says. “I just. I don’t. Any kind of sex.”

Foggy climbs up to sit next to him and trails his fingers along Matt’s arm. “Okay. Does it _bother_ you that you don’t enjoy sex – like, do you think it’s part of some trauma that you want to work through?” Matt makes a face and then almost hears Foggy roll his eyes. “You have six trillion tons of childhood trauma – shit, and adulthood too, you’re like a perpetual motion machine for traumatic experiences. It’s not an unreasonable question. Or do you think it’s just…you? Because that’s totally okay. Either of them.”

And sure, Stick had done some fucked up things to him. Sure, high school was an actual circle of hell comparable to at best the fourth. And yeah, something in his mind seemed to _give_ in early adulthood, making the entire Daredevil ordeal possible.

And yet.

“I actually think this is one hundred percent me and not some external force acting on my psyche. I’m okay with…with giving other people pleasure.”

“Good at it, too,” Foggy says kindly, and, well, he would know. Matt had lead up to this conversation by giving Foggy the sort of orgasms he wasn’t likely to forget any time soon, and then not letting him reciprocate because of increasingly, verging on _comically,_ bullshit excuses.

“I know.” Modesty can be a virtue in every other facet of his life. He _worked_ for that. “But yeah. I just. I don’t. Sorry.” He seriously just _doesn’t_. He touches himself once in a blue moon, has had so few wet dreams that he doesn’t even need two hands to count them – he enjoys being the active person in a sexual _encounter_ , and even calling them encounters seems to ring unnatural, so that’s great, but he doesn’t get any enjoyment when his own moves are turned on him.

“Don’t be sorry, man,” Foggy says, shaking his shoulder affectionately. “It’s no big. I’ve dated ace people before.”

“Ace?” Matt asks, and Foggy stills.

“So, we have some reading to do,” he says after a moment.

***

Marci and Karen are in the closest thing to a “healthy relationship” either of them has ever participated in. And sure, that was a little rude to Foggy on Marci’s part, but she doesn’t like to call what they had a “relationship.”

Because Foggy has a gift. And that gift involves his tongue, his fingers, and a truly noteworthy taste for giving head. And Marci had been more than willing to abuse those gifts, often to the exclusion of things like “emotional closeness,” and “communication,” which her therapist informed her were tenants of a functional relationship.

She has those things with Karen, at least. Hence the “healthy” part of “healthy relationship.”

And honestly it wasn’t anything she ever would have expected. They’d talked a few times after Fisk, when Marci picked up a little bit of the slack at Nelson & Murdock to earn some coin while every single one of her professional references was indicted for fraud. And Karen was smart, in a whiplash-inducing kind of way, and she was beautiful, and she could switch from business to flirting in an instant.

But then she was picking up _more_ of the slack, and Matt and Foggy were saying things like “I never thought we’d have this many clients,” and “Marci, you speak German, right?” and “We’re walling Matt into a windowless corner so that you can have your own office, my cousin is doing the drywall next week,” and “Let’s all grab drinks after this.”

And that last one, that one was the problem. Because Karen laughs at something Marci says, something stupid and mean about the prosecution’s toupee, and her laugh makes Marci’s chest warm. It wasn’t just the liquor – which, by the way, is absolutely disgusting and yet somehow more enjoyable than a twenty dollar mixed drink while schmoozing with the partners at L&Z – and that scares the living _shit_ out of her. Both her increasing fondness for cheap liquor and for Karen.

“So Karen’s a lesbian, right?” she asks one day at the office, while Karen is out, and Foggy starts choking on his Cheetos.

“Yes,” Matt says, in montone, not moving his head.

“Sweet, thanks,” she responds, and Foggy gets his shit in order enough to say –

“’Sweet, thanks?’ Marci, you are not allowed to seduce our secretary!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are there rules against inter-office relationships?”

“She likes good wine,” Matt butts in. “You should take her dancing.”

“Matt!” Foggy yelps.

“Foggy,” Matt replies, and from that tone, if those two aren’t fucking _yet_ , she’ll saw off her own legs and eat them.

So then it’s “I’m doing a salsa class next week and would really rather not get paired with a sweaty mouth-breathing _guy_ again, do you want to come?” and Karen smiles lightly.

“Sure.”

Karen seems hesitant to actually call what they’re doing ‘dating,’ luckily Foggy has a foot and a mouth, and he knows how to use them.

“So I kind of want to hire a PI on retainer, since we somehow actually have the budget for something like that. But I also don’t want to subject someone to being a fifth wheel, or risk hiring a _heterosexual_. Thoughts?”

“Fifth wheel?” Karen asks, amused but also with just a tinge of embarrassment.

“Well, yeah, since Matt and I are on the gay love train, and you and Marci are probably the ones in the control room, yelling at us to keep shoveling coal and honking the horn.” He pauses. “I don’t know how trains work.”

Matt honest-to-god _giggles_ , and Marci kind of wants to punch him, because there’s no way someone with that dorky of a giggle should get to keep Foggy’s mystical oral prowess to himself.

“I – I guess we are on the train, aren’t we?” Karen asks Marci, softly, and Foggy raises his eyebrows and glances between them.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I thought you were like. One hundred percent. All in. What with the googly eyes and the little sighs and – “ he gestures aimlessly between the two of them – “I’m pretty sure I saw Marci doodling Marci Page and little hearts the other day, like – “

Karen laughs, and the awkwardness Foggy was kind of exuding as he usually does dissipates. It’s like magic. Karen’s laugh is magic. “We’d hyphenate if anything. Go ahead and hire someone, Foggy, but yeah. Try to avoid heterosexuals, if possible. But yeah. We’re dating, I guess.”

Foggy winks at Marci and says “Better late than never.”

And then they’re official. They are in a relationship. And, as part of the gay love train, they fuck.

Their first time isn’t romantic. It’s mostly just frantic, and excited, and a little bit high off of endorphins and waiting too damn long. Marci doesn’t like to wait, and apparently neither does Karen.

It’s not the _best_ sex she’s ever had, but it feels like what they’ve been building towards, passion and fumbling hands, all-encompassing like a teenage romance, both of them scrambling to get each other’s clothes off, tripping onto Marci’s bed.

Their second time, though.

Karen drags Marci to a roller derby, of all the stereotypes, and then to dinner, and then to a movie, something with white people and a gun. Maybe two guns. They spend most of it in the back row, teasing each other with their hands, trying to get the other one to moan loud enough to be caught, and Marci never would have pegged Karen as an exhibitionist, but there you have it.

When they get back to Marci’s place, Karen pushes Marci down onto the bed so that she’s sitting, and unbuttons her blouse, one button at a time. Marci moves to mirror her, but Karen says “Not yet,” and Marci isn’t going to argue with _that_ tone.

She slides out of her blouse, sleeves not even catching at her wrists, like she’s some sort of wizard. Her skin is white, even in the filtered yellow light coming from the living room. She has little moles everywhere, dotting her skin like constellations, and god, Marci wants to kiss each and every one of them. She wants to give them names and personalities, because she knows that would make Karen laugh, and then she wants to smack herself for being so saccharine.

Her bra is strapless, because she’s built the sort of way that actually allows that, and it’s a baby blue balconette that does lovely things for her cleavage. Marci wants to reach out and touch her, but the way Karen’s looking at her, like something she wants to _eat_ , keeps her seated. Hypnotized.

Karen reaches down and unhooks the waistband of her pencil skirt, and shimmies her hips as she slowly pulls it down, and she’s not wearing pantyhose. She’s wearing a garter belt, a dark gray belt to which her dark thigh-highs are clipped, with little white bows.

She’s not wearing panties, and Marci feels the warm heat that’s pooled in her stomach all night drop even lower, and she shifts to feel her wet panties slide against her swollen cunt. “Karen,” Marci whispers.

“Shhhh,” Karen replies, stepping forward and, oh sweet lord, _straddling_ Marci. And these panties are ruined. Great. Actually, genuinely fantastic. She hasn’t ruined a pair of panties in almost a year. “Shhhhhhh.”

Karen works Marci’s blouse open even more slowly than she had done her own, and then she leans forward and starts to suck on Marci’s neck as she shimmies it off, and unclasps Marci’s bra (a pretty little lace number, of course). Marci starts to say something again, and Karen moves up to catch Marci’s mouth with her own, and whatever Marci had been about to say melts into a moan as Karen pulls off her bra and grinds down into Marci’s lap.

“Holy hell,” Marci finally breathes when Karen pulls away, to start trying to remove Marci’s pants.

“Yeah?” Karen asks, with a downright evil grin, and even with Marci’s nude lipstick smeared across half of her mouth she still looks absolutely stunning.

“Let me,” Marci finally says, and Karen climbs off – there’s a wet spot on Marci’s pant leg now, and she can’t be bothered to be annoyed, because it’s physical testament to how much Karen is _into_ this. “Where do you want me,” she asks as she pulls her pants and panties down in one go, and Karen looks at her, appraisingly.

“I want to sit on your face,” is what Karen says, and Marci barely hears it over the pounding of her heart.

Still, she pulls out a grin and says, “That can be arranged.” Karen smiles back at her, and then pats the bed next to her. Before she can lay down, Karen crashes their mouths together again, and it’s much more reminiscent of their first time, all messy passion and overeager excitement.

“You look so great like this,” Karen mutters as she pulls away, getting out little clauses before diving back in. “You’re so hot, all horny and blushing and warm,” she moves back down to Marci’s neck, and Marci grasps at her back long enough to undo Karen’s bra. “I want you,” Karen says, before moving to her collarbone, “to make,” she moves to where Marci’s neck meets her shoulder, “me _scream,_ ” and then she bites down, and Marci gasps and throws her head back.

Karen pushes her the rest of the way down and climbs so that she’s straddling Marci’s waist. Where Marci keeps herself trimmed into a perfectly proportioned landing strip, Karen lets her pubic hair grow wild. Granted, she’s practically hairless everywhere else so it’s more a soft dusting of strawberry blonde than the coarse brown wires Marci gets.

They don’t get too fancy with it – Karen climbs up and then leans back, resting her back against Marci’s belly, and Marci brings her arms up to brace Karen’s legs. She inhales, deeply, and Karen smells like wood sorrel and strawberries, along with the salty sweat smell of arousal.

And then she ducks down, and starts by licking a long stripe up from Karen’s cunt right to her clit, and Karen’s swollen and hot and soaking wet, and she bucks back with a little “ _Ah,_ ” and Marci wishes she could touch herself, but not as much as she wishes for Karen to be having the best time of her life.

She noses into the insides of Karen’s thighs and leaves gentle love bites, and Karen mewls gently – Marci lets the anticipation build before returning and flicking her tongue softly on Karen’s clit, a bright red bead swollen and waiting. And then she ducks her head further in, another lick, another flick, another lick, and then gently teasing her labia with her lips, another lick –

Karen half-struggles where she’s splayed against Marci, and her legs twitch and tighten periodically, and Marci hums just to feel Karen clench as the vibrations trigger something spectacular. “ _God,_ Marci,” Karen whispers, and Marci closes her lips around Karen’s clit and _sucks_ , and she lets out a spectacular moan as her cunt flutters against Marci’s chin.

She stops just as Karen’s legs tense up more than they had to that point and returns to sucking soft bruises into her thighs, and Karen’s steadily louder moan turns into a groan, a long drawn out “ _Marci…_ ” and then Marci gives another lick, dips her tongue further into Karen before flicking again, and then licking around her hood and humming again, and there it is, another long and loud moan, another little tense-up, and then it’s back to the thighs.

“You’re trying to kill me,” is what Karen says, and Marci resists the urge to respond _“I thought the same thing earlier,_ ” but she must be thinking it loudly enough because Karen’s next words are, “This is revenge, isn’t it?”

Her words after _that_ are “Oh – Marci, Marci, _MarciMarciMarciMarci, Marci!_ ” as Marci returns to paying careful attention to Karen’s clit, sucking and then flicking, and turning to lick a hot stripe up, and then more flicking, and this time when Karen’s legs tense she keeps going, digs her nails into Karen’s thighs where the skin is already sensitive from the hickies, and Karen’s shoulders buck as her panting Marci’s name turns into a scream of pleasure as she cums, and Marci moves down to lick inside of Karen, feeling her walls shudder against her tongue, before one last flick that causes her scream to crack into a hoarse shout, before she falls slack.

Marci smiles into Karen, who slowly sits up a moment later and then, in one move, slides down so that she’s nearly laying on top of Marci, and kissing her, tasting herself.

And then Karen is reaching down, squeezes Marci’s hip, and she slides her hand to Marci’s cunt and teases the folds of her open.

“Karen,” Marci sighs into her mouth, and Karen hums and adjusts so that she’s straddling Marci’s leg and can get a better angle, which she then uses to slide two fingers into Marci and then drag up to pinch at Marci’s clit, and that’s all it takes. Marci bucks and gasps as Karen squeezes, and twists, just a _little_ bit, and she’s cumming, writhing under Karen and whispering gibberish.

Everything grays out just a little bit, and then they’re laying next to each other, and Karen is giggling softly. “I feel like we should be smoking and comparing sexual conquests,” she says after a moment, and Marci outright _laughs_ , and thinks, holy shit.

***

Matt and Marci are alone in the office, Foggy assisting Karen with their interviews for a PI, when Marci leans over and says “So, I have a question.”

Marci tends to ask incredibly blunt questions apropos of nothing, so her asking permission is either worrisome or welcome, and Matt’s not sure which. “Is it a blind thing?” he tries, because those he can answer. He has answers prepared.

“No. It’s a Foggy thing.” Oh.

“I’m going to cautiously say yes,” he decides, and Marci takes a long sip from her frappuccino (caramel, extra shot of espresso, low fat whip cream, the barista was a smoker) and then sets it down, hard.

“Is Foggy as good at sucking dick as he is at cunnilingus?”

Matt coughs, and can practically hear the blood rushing to his face. “I – uh. Hmm.” His brain is short-circuiting. That’s not what he expected to hear. He knows, objectively, that Foggy is good. In the sort of way he could tell when a juggler was skilled. But since that first night when Matt really hadn’t enjoyed it, Foggy hadn’t tried again.

“He’s _really_ good, please tell me you’re not letting that go to waste.”

“I’m not – I’m not letting it go to waste.” His heart goes baBUMP baBUMPbaBUMP and he wills it to even out. “He’s good. He’s very good.”

Marci is leaning in, he can smell the perfume she sprays into her cleavage more easily. It smells more like sweat than the little dabs on her neck and wrists.

“I’m narrowing my eyes very aggressively at you, Murdock. Is that the selective Catholicism peeking out?”

“Yeah,” Matt chokes, refinding his place on the printed braille and trying to start over.

“Lie,” Marci says, and _God_ that’s annoying. He understands from Foggy’s perspective why Matt knowing when he’s lying is annoying and awful, but Marci being able to do it is annoying, awful, _and_ inexplicable. “You’re a shit liar. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s _up,_ ” he says.

“Okay,” Marci says in a way that means she doesn’t believe him.

***

Foggy waits until Matt’s settled so that his head is in his lap, and runs his hand through it. It’s getting a little long, and he plucks vaguely at the thinner hairs at the nape of his neck, that are starting to curl.

“Marci grilled me about something today,” he says, and Matt starts.

“She does that,” Matt offers, obviously on the defensive.

“It was about our sex life.”

“Ah,” is what Matt says. And then nothing else.

“She understands and respects you, just for the record. But she also has a proposal.”

“Hmm,” Matt says.

“Do you want to hear it?”

A long pause. “Yes.” Foggy runs his hand through Matt’s hair again.

“If you’re okay with it, and only if you’re okay, she wants to, uh.” God, how is he supposed to phrase this? He’ll just steal Marci’s. “Utilize my many talents. For her and Karen’s benefit.”

Matt’s silent, and Foggy glances down to see that his eyes are flickering from side to side, not seeing anything. He does that sometimes, when he’s thinking. His lips are pursed. “Is…is it something you want?” he finally asks.

“Only if you’d be okay with it. You understand – probably better than most, the pleasure that you can get out of making someone else feel good. It’s something I can go without, I promise, but if we can get something mutually beneficial out of it…”

“Hmm,” Matt says, again. “What – what do I get out of it, if it’s mutually beneficial?”

His face is somewhere between annoyed and amused. Foggy leans his face into Matt’s shoulder and smiles, so that he can feel it. “My adoration? More nights to do that whole vigilante crimefighting thing without worrying about me sitting at home being worried?”

“Hmm,” Matt says, _again,_ and Foggy shrugs.

“I’m not trying to _bribe_ you, I swear. I’ll come to church with you?”

“Mass, Foggy. It’s called Mass.”

“Lutheran heathen here, sorry I don’t subscribe to the church of knee joint pain.”

“Okay.” A pause.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’m okay with it. It actually seems like a kind of good idea. Isn’t Karen a lesbian, though?”

“She’s still romantically attracted to guys, she just can’t imagine being in an actual relationship with one, that’s how she phrased it to me. We were drunk. You should have been there.” He really should have. Instead, he was passed out on top of a dumpster.

“Huh. Okay.”

“Really okay?”

“Yes, really okay, _please_ don’t make me say okay again.” He’s smiling now, even if it’s still got an edge of uncertainty. “But take a shower afterwards. A long one. I don’t want to smell Marci on you.”

“Okay. Wow. Okay.”

***

Karen’s not sure which of her ancestors pissed off a witch, which was the only reasonable explanation for how the first twenty-six years of her life had gone, but someone must have completed whatever task there was to do to make up for it, because the last six months had been _amazing._

After a spiral into functional alcoholism, she’d realized that she didn’t want it to keep going this way. It being her life, her relationships, her liver functioning. She wasn’t the sort of person who could do AA, though – as much as AA liked to market itself as welcome to all, she was a murderer, not someone who had gone through a bad divorce.

It wasn’t something you could get off your chest in a group meeting under a false name.

Matt had dragged her to mass a few times, when she was at her worst. He’d introduced her to a Father Lantom, a kind old man who seemed closer to Matt than anyone else, save Foggy. And, well. She’d confessed.

It wasn’t a confession in a booth, with God’s eyes staring down in judgement. She’d left all that behind when she came to New York City. Father Lantom had taken her aside, the third time Matt had talked her into it, and taken her into a little kitchen with a truly overcomplicated espresso machine that the man operated like a pro. And then he checked his phone, turned it off, sat down, and said “I get the feeling that you have something on your mind.”

And out came the entire ordeal with Wesley, and everything that had come after – the drinking, the nightmares, the hallucinations, the panic attacks. Lantom had just let her talk, and talk, and talk, and when she finally stopped, he pushed his latte towards her and told her to drink.

“That’s fucked up,” is what he finally said. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened to you.”

“Well, it is just my luck,” she replied through a bitter grin.

“It’s not fair. It truly isn’t. But, if you don’t mind me saying, you seem like you’re made of something tougher than most of the folks I see come through here’ve got. It seems like you’re already trying to buck it off.”

“You have to, to tell the police or something, right?” Karen asked, wiping away more tears. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Karen, this old heart is more secrets than anything else these days. I know a lot of things that the police would like to know. But I consider the seal of confession sacred, and it holds as strongly in this room as it does in those dinky little boxes.”

And that was that. It wasn’t an instant cure, she had still gone home and gotten most of her way through a box of wine before passing out for twelve hours, but saying it out loud did more for her than she ever expected it would. She still goes to Lantom now and again, but it seems like the shambles her life had fallen to were clearing themselves up, in a big way.

So now she’s laying in Marci’s bed, completely naked, as Marci hisses something at Foggy in the living room. Marci has been a force for – for _something_ , in Karen’s life. Socialization, perhaps? It’s so much harder to isolate herself with Marci at her side, Marci who knows how to play everyone around them like fiddles, save Matt and occasionally Foggy.

Foggy, who is now apparently going to be a purely physical part of their relationship. A little unorthodox, but she’ll take it. That’s part of her new life plan, taking what she wants. And she’s heard Marci wax lyrical about Foggy’s tongue more than it’s probably normal to hear a current lover wax about one past.

Their dynamic in the office has hardly changed at all, except Marci sometimes pinches Foggy’s ass when she walks by, or Karen will let their teasing get a little bit more heated. Matt gets a little furrow between his brows when they do this, but he doesn’t actually say anything.

“I’m supportive,” Matt reassures her. “Seriously, I am. I just – this is going to sound _really weird_ , but it’s a blind thing, I’m used to Foggy smelling a very particular way. I just don’t want that to change. I’m possessive over _that._ But he wants to have fun, and he gets something from you that he doesn’t from me, and I’m fine with it.”

 While Foggy isn’t exactly her type, what with the being a man and all, she can get off enough on just how easily he drives Marci up a wall.

Sometimes literally. He’s stronger than he looks. “Ten years of baseball,” he says, only half sarcastically, before kissing his bicep.

Tonight, he and Karen are collaborating. Marci has wanted to know a bit more about what exactly is in store for her, and Foggy’s trying to give her just enough to keep from getting anxious. “This night’s about _you_ ,” she catches, and she rolls over and feels Marci’s sheets wrap around her legs.

The door opens, suddenly, and Karen jerks to get into an approximation of a sexy position. Puts on her best “come hither” look and everything, but it’s rendered ineffective by the way her legs are trapped, and also because she nearly smacks herself in the face in her haste.

“Smooth,” Foggy mouths, and then leads Marci in. Marci is blindfolded and naked, not restrained in any way. She looks a strange combination of unhappy and excited.

Slowly, Foggy pushes Marci down onto the bed and makes her recline backwards until she’s laying down, and then Karen sits up and stoops over, and kisses the tip of Marci’s nose. She grins and tilts her head up, obviously asking for a kiss. “Karen,” she says, playfully.

Foggy pushes a strand of hair out of her face and meets Karen’s eyes. They share a smile, and Karen climbs so that she’s straddling Marci’s waist, and gently massages her shoulders. Marci lets out a happy little hum, that gets deeper when Karen moves her hands inward, first going for her shoulderblades, then her breasts.

She arches up, just a bit, into Karen’s touch, and Karen glances down to see Foggy finally sitting down. He takes one of Marci’s feet in his hands and starts rubbing circles deep into her sole, and Marci kicks a little before realizing what is happening and going slack. “A massage?” she asks the air around her. “That’s nice. That’s nice…”

Karen moves back up to her shoulders, and squeezes along the sides of her neck, which makes Marci arch back and almost kick Foggy in the face. “Oh, jeeze,” she mutters, tilting her head and craning her neck to give Karen better access. Foggy starts on the other foot.

Slowly, Karen lowers herself, and pauses when she feels the tips of her breasts touch Marci’s flesh. Marci shudders and moves a little bit against her, and then leans up to kiss her. Her aim is impeccable, as usual. She makes little gasping moans into Karen’s mouth as Foggy continues to work whatever magic he picked up from the internet or Matt or whatever his sources are, now working up her calves.

Karen licks into her mouth, going behind her teeth, and hums back, reaching up one hand to squeeze her breasts and tweak her nipples. Marci shivers and grinds down into nothing, and Karen grins appreciatively before pulling back and sitting back, turning to reach around and comb her fingers through Marci’s landing strip. To feel the slickness emanating from her cunt.

“Marci,” Karen whispers, her first vocalization of the night, and Marci gives her a rogueish grin. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

She is, all round breasts and soft tummy and blonde curls. Her nails bite into her palms as Foggy digs his fingers into the backs of her knees, and she lets out a little gasp, revealing her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Karen always thinks Marci looks gorgeous, but she’s the most gorgeous like _this_ , red lipped and wrecked, hair askew, ready to be fucked.

“Do you want this off?” Karen asks, trailing her fingers up to Marci’s face, but she grabs Karen’s hand and presses kisses to the pads of the fingers.

“No, no, it’s grown on me already, I like it,” Marci mutters between kisses, and then she lets out a yelp as Foggy’s hands stray up to her cunt, and Karen leans back down to continue kissing. Foggy’s fucking her on his fingers, and Karen glances back to see that he’s going incredibly, almost painfully slowly.

“ _God_ , Foggy,” Marci whispers, almost a complaint, more of a compliment. “I get it, but I can’t believe Murdock’s letting – _ah_ – this go to waste.”

“He’s not, anymore,” Foggy mutters, and Marci jerks at the realization that his face is hardly an inch away from her. Karen climbs off and lets her fingers trail along Marci’s sides, and Marci turns a little bit towards her. And then Foggy’s face is between her thighs, and her legs are hitched up around his shoulders, and from the way she lets out a little squeal of delight it sounds like he’s licked a single broad stripe from her perineum to her clit.

Karen is _deeply_ proud of her ability to tell what moves Marci’s feeling based on the sounds she makes.

And she makes _so many_ sounds. Karen loves every single one of them, and steals them out of Marci’s mouth when the mood strikes. Mostly, though, she trails gentle touches along Marci’s skin, moving silently so that Marci doesn’t know where she’ll be touched next.

She signals to Foggy by softly tapping his shoulder, and then reaches to squeeze her breasts right as Foggy dips down, into _her_ , with his tongue. Something they both know she loves. And Marci jerks up, clamping her thighs around Foggy’s head with a shout of “Oh _God…_ ” and Karen squeezes her sides and rubs her belly, still full from their group dinner. Marci leans back with a guttural moan, and lets Foggy’s head free.

He’s unfazed, of course, and continues on his mission to eat her out like nobody’s business, and Karen returns to the gentle touches. She dips down towards Marci’s hips and squeezes, and Marci makes a happy little sound and opens her mouth and leans her head back into their many pillows. “ _God_ you make this so unfair,” she whines, and Karen leans down again to start kissing along her neck and collarbones, sucking bruises in a ring pattern that she knows will sit _just_ under Marci’s preferred neckline, so that if she stretches her arms they’ll be just visible enough for Karen to see. For everyone to see, but especially Karen.

Foggy hums a little bit and reaches down to touch himself. On nights when Karen’s being treated, Marci splits her time more evenly between Karen and Foggy. But Foggy is well aware that on nights when Marci’s the center of attention, he’ll be left primarily to his own devices. And he’s okay with that.

Karen’s seriously considering bringing some of the weirder shit she likes into their bedroom, because Foggy seems genuinely enthusiastic about _everything._ Which is amazing and respectable, and if only he weren’t a ‘he,’ this would be 100% perfect.

But, Karen thinks as Marci bucks again and grits her teeth, clutching the sheets in her fists, Karen is absolutely happy with a solid 99.

Her mission of hickey necklace completed, Karen assesses just how close Marci is to cumming. From her little gasps, her attempts to be quiet, and the way the occasional _loud_ moan is breaking out, she’s close. Karen runs her fingers along Marci’s collarbones and across her stomach again, and then Marci’s _very_ close.

She taps Foggy’s shoulder again, and he turns his head to bite at the inside of her thigh before signaling back, and Karen moves so that she has one breast cupped and the other inches away from her mouth.

Foggy dips his head again, and moves his hands to add fingers to the mix, and Karen leans down and teases Marci’s nipple with her tongue before sucking gently, and Marci bucks against them both and lets out a gasp, again clamping down around Foggy’s head, but this time riding his face. Karen runs her fingers along her tummy again, pressing down just enough that Marci feels the pressure, and she bucks a final time with gasp that turns into a mewling cry after just a moment.

She falls slack, and Foggy extracts himself from her improvised headlock and grins at Karen, who smiles back. “I love the way her voice cracks when she does that,” Foggy tells her, and Karen nods.

“Still lucid,” Marci mutters, before reaching up to pull off the blindfold. “Barely, but still there. _God._ ” She props herself up on her elbows and glares playfully at the two of them.

“Love you,” Karen says, and Marci’s expression softens.

“Love you, too,” she replies. Foggy ducks his head and grins, but Karen absolutely catches him mouthing _‘Aaaaaaaw,_ ’ and promises to exact revenge.

***

Matt tosses something onto Marci’s desk with truly unreasonable aim and continues walking. It’s heavy, and rectangular, and Marci frowns. “What is it, Murdock?”

He doesn’t even stop walking. “You have a collaboration with Karen and Foggy. This is my collaboration with your collaboration. Merry Christmas.”

“I’m Jewish,” Marci calls back.

Jessica, the P.I. Matt had somehow wrangled into working with them part time, is looking at her semi-curiously. She pretends not to notice Foggy and Karen trying to subtly peek into her office, and half considers slamming the door just to piss them off. And then she remembers the night before last and reconsiders. But she’s still going to mess with them.

Painfully slowly, she undoes the tape on one corner, before turning it and undoing the other. She’s about to wedge her nail under the third when Karen shouts “Christ, Marci! Just open it!”

Marci offers her a grin and a wink before tearing the giftwrap off.

It’s a sign. Same style and font as the humble one outside. Except in bold, proud letters, it says “STAHL, NELSON & MURDOCK.”

“Happy Hanukah,” Matt yells from down the hall as she stands up and runs her hands along her name. First, even. It occurs to her that the future Nelson-Murdocks probably didn’t want to get rid of the ampersand between their name, but still. Her name. First.

Foggy and Karen crowd into her office and trap her in a hug, Karen nuzzling into her neck. “Happy Hanukah,” Karen mutters, and Foggy chuckles.

“You’re late,” she chokes out, and Foggy shrugs.

“Better late than never.”

Marci glances up and meets Karen’s eyes, and smiles. Yeah. Better late than never.

**Author's Note:**

> There's two lengthy sex scenes, and they're Marci and Karen in the middle, and Marci Karen and Foggy at the end. It's all cunnilingus, and Marci wears a blindfold for the last one.  
> \-----  
> This was seriously so much fun to write, and such a challenge! I personally headcanon Matt as being a bit of a sex fiend so writing something directly opposite that was _fascinating_ and a great excercise in alternative character interpretation! Plus I always love writing Marci. She's just fun.


End file.
